The Little Mermaid
by pensandpaper13
Summary: Dr. Ellingham is called when a beautiful young woman with no identity washes up on the beach. Warning: this is my first story with an original character.
1. Chapter 1

"The Little Mermaid"

Chapter 1

* * *

Dr. Martin Ellingham was still in his surgery, going over some sloppy paperwork Pauline had left him, when the telephone rang.

"What is it?" Martin barked, annoyed at being disturbed.

"_Aye, Doc, its Bert Large here. 'Seems there's a bit of an emergency down at the waterfront_."

Martin straightened up. "What sort of emergency?"

"'_Seems a little girl's washed up on the beach. My boy Al's fished her out of the water but her head's bleeding something fierce."_

Martin's stomach turned, but he stood up quickly, steeling himself. "I'll be there soon."

He hung up, grabbed his case and set off running. It wasn't difficult to find the scene; a small crowd had gathered around a spot on the shore and they were all talking at once. Martin pushed through roughly. "Move, move," he repeated until he could see the patient. She was lying on her side on the ground with a jacket covering her torso and Al Large close beside her, one hand under her head and the other resting on her hip, keeping her balanced. Mark knelt beside him, and Bert hovered over the both of them. Martin took a deep breath and knelt down. The side of the girl's face was shining with red blood, and Martin spotted several guts and gashes along her pale, slender extremities.

"How long has she been unconscious?" he asked.

"Just a minute or two," Mark answered quickly. "Al brought her out of the water and performed CPR, and then she was talking, kept saying she wanted to go home, then poof – lights went out."

Martin nodded, then abruptly turned away to take a big gulp of air. He was beginning to feel extremely nauseated. He checked the girl's pulse, pupils, neck and abdomen, and finding nothing alarming, he reached for his bag and pulled out a bandage. He pressed it to her head and ordered, "Hold that there."

Mark obeyed. Martin took another deep breath of salt water air and started assessing the girl's body for other injuries. He lifted the jacket to find that she was mostly naked, in just her pants and a thin camisole. She was also older than he originally thought.

"Where are her clothes?" he inquired. "Did you take them off?"

"She was like that when I pulled her out," Al said, "I covered her with the jacket; I figured she wouldn't want us looking at her knickers…"

Martin nodded and stood up. "She'll freeze to death out here. Has someone called an ambulance?"

"'Said they'd be about forty minutes," Bert said. "Is she going to be alright, Doc? She's just a little thing…"

"She may have suffered internal injuries. We can't wait forty minutes…Mark, I need your police van."

"Of course, doc."

Using a surfboard as a makeshift gurney, Mark and Martin carried the girl up to the van and set her down carefully in the back. Martin climbed in after her and was about to shut the doors when Al caught his arm. "Can I come too? I just, I want to make sure she's alright…"

"Yes all right, get it." Martin said grumpily. He didn't have time to sit there and argue with the boy. He jumped in and they set off to meet the ambulance.

"Doc," Al said after a few minutes, "Doc, she's waking up."

Martin checked her vitals as her eyes fluttered open and her body jerked, a hoarse whimper escaping her throat. Martin looked down at her, perturbed, having no idea what to say or do.

"It's alright girl," Al said, smiling down at her, smoothing her hair. "Everything's alright."

She blinked, her eyes focusing on his face. He ran his hand down her arm and held her hand in his, and she clung to him, her scratched fingers trembling.

* * *

"Do you know your name?" Martin asked the girl in a loud, clear voice. She sat on the sofa in his living room, wearing pyjamas borrowed from a neighbour's daughter and Martin's own dressing gown. She'd been at Martin's since the night before, having been put in his care while Mark and the rest of the police force tried to find out who she was. Martin questioned her at least five times but she never uttered a word.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked, starting to feel exasperated. She just stared past him into space. She had huge, blank brown eyes. She was a sort of odd-looking girl; tiny, slender, with a head of wildly curly dark hair and a full mouth.

Martin sighed and checked the stitches on her forehead. She barely even flinched.

There was a knock on the door and Martin told her to stay put before going out into the surgery and yanking open the door. Bert and Al Large and Joan stood on the doorstep. Martin sighed heavily and stood aside to let them pass. He'd only gotten rid of a bunch of nosy neighbours just a few hours ago.

"I brought her a care package," Bert said, holding up a basket. "Large style."

Martin led them into the living room. "Maybe you can get her to speak," he said tiredly.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Bert smiled at the girl. She looked up, her vacant eyes following the visitors. Bert, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa, opened the basket. "I've brought you some things to help you feel better," he said. He began showing her the items – just an assortment of sweets, it seemed – and Al leaned against the doorway, watching.

Joan came to stand next to Martin. "Couldn't trouble you for a cup of tea, Marty?"

"Of course." Martin took her into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Bert followed, slightly disheartened at the girl's lack of enthusiasm for his gift basket.

"Still no news about where she came from?" Joan asked quietly. Martin shook his head.

"And you don't know anything about her at all?"

"Just that she's between fifteen to eighteen years of age, she's slightly anemic, and…" Martin glanced at the girl, lowering his voice. "She appears to have suffered various levels of abuse since early childhood."

Joan looked pained. "Oh, dear."

Al, having stayed leaning in the doorway, watched the girl as she carefully poked through the sweets beside her.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" he asked her. The girl jumped a little and put her hands in her lap, staring at the ground. Al looked down there as well, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I prefer a good coffee myself…Pauline, my girlfriend, likes that syrup stuff you put in to make it taste like French vanilla or Irish cream. You like any of that?"

Still nothing. Al ran a hand over his rough jaw awkwardly. "Not a big talker, eh? Well that's okay." he mumbled.

There was a long, slightly uncomfortable silence, then finally the girl spoke; a single forced, soft word, "C-camomile."

Al looked up. "What's that, love?"

The girl glanced at him briefly, avoiding eye contact. "I like…camomile." She said, as though her voice wasn't strong enough to last a full sentence. Al straightened up. "Oh. Alright. I'll get you some, then." He turned and went into the kitchen.

"Got any camomile tea, doc?" he asked.

"No, why?"

"She asked for some."

Everyone looked at Al. Bert gave him a push. "Go back and ask her who she is, boy!"

"No," Joan said, "you'll just make her clam up again. Marty, I'll run to the shop. Do not crowd the child – she'll tell you who she is in her own time."

Joan gave each of them a stern look. "After what that girl's been through, she deserves a little peace and quiet."

* * *

As the days passed, the girl – Jane Doe, as her file said – slowly became more aware. She answered the simple questions Martin asked her – do you want fish or hamburger, are you warm enough, does that hurt – but she still refused to tell him who she was.

On the fifth day, Martin parked her at Pauline's desk in the surgery like he did every morning, and Pauline put her to work sorting patient files. And just like clockwork, Al stopped by at noon to bring Pauline her lunch. He'd started bringing the girl some too, but she was always hesitant to eat it. Today he brought them fish and chips; "The finest in town," he told her. The girl watched as he bent to give Pauline a kiss, then turned to the girl and smiled.

"Alright, girl?" he said. She smiled a little, her stomach feeling a little fluttery, and nodded. Al cracked open a can of pop and set it on the desk in front of her before settling down by the window.

"What have you got on for today?" Pauline asked him as they were finishing their lunch.

"Just some shopping for Dad," Al replied, still looking at the girl. "Do you want to come? Get a little fresh air?"

The girl nodded. "Yeah, okay."

She got up and Al said goodbye to Pauline, following the girl out into the sunshine.

"I've got to go to the grocery and the chemist," Al said, pulling a piece of paper from his back pocket. "Anywhere you want to go?"

She shook her head. She was content to just follow him around and see the village. She felt more comfortable with Al than she did with anyone else, even Joan who'd yesterday asked her to call her 'Auntie'.

"I've been thinking about where you might've come from," Al told her as they walked down the street. The girl folded her arms over her chest. "Yeah?"

Al nodded, giving her a smile. "Maybe you're a mermaid. Maybe you got caught in a net and dragged into the harbour."

She laughed. "Maybe."

After they'd finished the shopping, she asked him to take her to the beach. "The one where you found me," she said. So Al took her down to the shore, where she laid down in the sand, so close to the water her toes got wet when the waves washed in. Lying there with her long dark hair fanned out and sand sticking to her skin…Al really did believe she was a mermaid. _She's amazing_, he thought, not for the first time.

"You pulled me out?" she asked, her voice loud over the sound of the waves and wind. Al stood over her, his hands in his pockets. "Yeah."

"You…brought me back." she said, staring up at the sky. He nodded.

She looked up at him, her curly fringe blowing in her face. "I should be really pissed at you for that."

Frowning, he looked at her for a long time. Finally he said, "Who are you, girl?"

She got to her feet and started to wander back up the beach. "I don't know," she said, her voice nearly drowned out by the wind.


	2. Chapter 2

The days went by, the clock kept ticking, and Jane Doe still remained a complete mystery. Martin moved her from his living room to the spare bedroom, and she continued to work with Pauline, and Al continued to visit her, his stay getting longer and his visits more frequent with each passing day. With him, she found herself talking easily, about anything and everything. They had hours-long conversations about their days, and he made her laugh until her sides hurt, as she did to him. And after that day at the beach, he never again asked her who she had been before she came to Portwenn.

Though he wanted to. The question was on the tip of his tongue every moment he was with her (when he wasn't busy listening to her talk endlessly about nothing or thinking about how beautiful she was in that light) but something kept him from asking. Sometimes he thought maybe he just didn't want to upset her, but other times he wasn't sure if he actually wanted to know. He'd overheard what the doc said to his dad that first day, about the abuse, and it gave him an odd sort of sick feeling to think about it. So he didn't ask her, and instead made her laugh, because when she laughed that sick feeling went away and she wasn't a mystery. She was just a wonderful girl with no name.

But it wasn't all long conversations and laughter. She had days where the fog was so thick, even Al couldn't bring her out of it; days when all she could do was sit still and stare at the wall, retreating far into her mind where nothing could touch her.

The bad days weren't the worst, however. It was the days that began good and ended bad. The days when she laughed, then went and dropped a cup of tea and her first instinct was to cower and plead.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she would whimper as she tried to sweep up the shards with her hands, "Please, I won't do it again, please…"

And Mark would cry and Martin would clam up and Al would try to soothe her and Pauline would ask her why she was so upset, and Joan would just look at her like _she_ was the broken teacup.

It was days like those that made her desperate for them to never find out who she was, but at the same time, desperate for them to know and understand why breaking a cup was such a big deal.

But the days passed. And every day she didn't tell them, it got a little bit further into the past, a little bit further away from her. She hoped that maybe, someday, it got so far away it felt like a bad dream.

* * *

After a few weeks of being called 'Jane Doe', the girl confided to Joan as they were picking vegetables on the farm, that she didn't particularly like being referred to as though she were a corpse.

"Well you could always tell us your real name," Joan said, placing a cabbage in the basket in the girl's arms. The girl gave Joan a pained look and Joan frowned. "I know you remember it," she told her, "You remember a lot more than you let on, don't you."

The girl hesitated before nodding slowly. Joan softened a little.

"You can't run from it forever, dear. Sooner or later, you must face it."

"Do I have to?" the girl said, grimacing slightly.

"Not just yet." Joan smiled.

The girl was quiet for a few minutes as she followed Joan through the garden, then said carefully, "I don't want to be who I was."

Joan looked at her. She elaborated, "That girl…she was weak. She…let bad things happened to her. I don't…I don't want to that girl anymore."

"Well," Joan said, "Who do you want to be?"

The girl thought about it. "I want to be like you. And…like Louisa and Pauline. Strong…independent." She pushed her hair behind her ear, blushing. "Sexy…"

Joan laughed. "Oh, you'll get there."

Sighing, the girl thought, _not while I'm still Jane Doe, fading in and out, barely able to function._

"I suppose so."

* * *

Later that evening, the girl found herself alone in the surgery. She switched on the radio and grabbed a broom to sweep up (Pauline had asked her an hour ago and she still hadn't gotten around to it) and before she knew it she was dancing to the unfamiliar songs. She liked the upbeat ones, the ones that made her want to jump and swing her hair around like she saw on TV once.

She danced for a good ten minutes before she slowed down, breathless. A soft, sleepy tune had come on, one of those songs that seem to fill you up and lull you into a trance. She began spinning in a circle slowly, her eyes closed, head tilted back. It was then that Al stopped in the doorway, staring, mesmerized by the beauty of the moment. She spun on the spot, as gracefully as a ballerina in a music box, completely at peace. The song stopped and still she kept spinning until Al said,

"Julia."

She opened her eyes. "What?" she inquired. She went over to the desk and turned the volume down low. Al smiled, coming further inside. "The song. Julia by the Beatles."

"Oh."

The girl stared at the radio for a moment, her eyes far away, then she looked up at him and said, "Do you think…do you think I could be Julia?"

Al smiled. "Suits you."

The girl – Julia – grinned beautifully. She'd just taken her first steps towards becoming a real person. She looked up at Al, her eyes focusing on the curve of his lips. She was so close she could see the golden glint of stubble along his jaw. She desperately wanted to kiss him in that moment, and she knew by the way he was looking at her that if Pauline hadn't just walked in, he would've let her. Instead they jumped apart, cheeks turning pink, trying not to look guilty.

"Oh, hey Al," she said, sounding a little suspicious. "What's going on here?"

Al perched by the window, smiling. "Our girl's just given herself a name," he informed Pauline.

"Oh? What is it, then?"

"Julia," the girl said, her stomach feeling fluttery just saying it. "I want to be Julia."

Pauline settled herself behind the desk, giving Al a sideways look. "Well, I guess that's your prerogative."

* * *

Al walked Pauline home later that night. She walked with a foot of space between them, her arms folded, mouth set in a frown, the tension building until Al finally said,

"Alright, Paul, what's wrong?"

Pauline stopped, her eyes shining in the evening light. There was a moment as she built up the courage, then she blurted, "Do you like her?"

Al blinked. "Who?"

"Julia, that's who!" Pauline shouted, then, lowering her voice, she said shakily, "I saw you two today, standing inches apart gazing into each other's eyes. I've seen the way you've been looking at her since the day she arrived."

Al hunched his shoulders slightly, trying hard not to look fearful. He hated confrontation, especially with a tearful woman. "I-I haven't been looking at her any way –"

"Oh, stop it Al!" Pauline put her hand to her forehead, scuffing her boot on the ground. She hated crying just as much as Al hated confrontation.

"You realize you haven't kissed me in weeks?" she said. "You used to be all over me and now I can't even get a kiss goodnight. Is it because you want her? Is that it?"

"No, Paul…" Al couldn't meet her eyes.

"If it is, just tell me now!" Pauline said harshly, "Because I don't want to be with a man who would rather be messing around with little girls!"

A twinge of anger made Al look up sharply. "Pauline, just shut up for a minute and listen!"

He stepped up to her, taking her head in his hands, and – lying through his teeth – he said forcefully, "I don't want Julia. She's just a girl, just a friend. I want _you._ Only you."

And he kissed her, shutting his eyes, and seeing Julia.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Readers,_

_Sorry for this very short chapter, I don't think I'll be able to write or post for the next few days so I thought I'd just upload this now. I hope you enjoy it (though I'll warn you it's not a particularly happy chapter) and I plan to be back as soon as possible :)_

_- pensandpaper13_

* * *

Al didn't go to the surgery the next day. Or the next. Julia wondered if it was because of their near-kiss experience the other day, but Pauline told her he was working. She tried to believe that for a few days. She tried not to feel abandoned, tried not to sulk about it like the child everyone already thought she was. But she missed him terribly, and every day it got worse. After a week, it was Louisa who noticed the girl was even more melancholy than usual when she spotted her moping on the steps of the surgery.

"Hello, Julia," Louisa smiled. "You okay? You're looking a bit glum."

Julia looked up briefly and shrugged. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"Good, good, just stopped by to renew an old prescription. Is he in?"

The girl nodded. Louisa hesitated for a moment, then sat down beside her. "Come on. What's got you down?"

"It's nothing," Julia mumbled. She pushed her hair behind her ear, avoiding Louisa's eyes. "It's just…Al hasn't been to see me in a while…"

"Oh, well I'm sure he's just been busy. Lots of plumbing to do, I suppose." Louisa said cheerily. She thought Julia's friendship with Al was cute,

if a bit unconventional.

"I'm pretty sure he's avoiding me." Julia said quietly, more to herself than Louisa.

"That doesn't sound like him. He probably just hasn't found the time. Why don't you just go over and see him instead?"

The girl's brow knitted together and she looked at Louisa. "I hadn't thought of that."

Louisa smiled. "See, there you go."

She got to her feet and patted Julia's head as she went into the surgery. Julia sat on the steps for another moment, then she stood and headed down them, the first time by herself. She was nervous and jumpy, but desperate enough to brave the streets. She folded her arms over her chest tightly and prayed she wouldn't run into that horrid group of cackling girls who always seemed to show up. Fortunately, the sun was starting to go down and most of the villagers had either turned in for the night or gone down to the pub.

She didn't exactly know where Bert and Al lived, but as it turned out she didn't have to – their red plumber's van was parked outside the primary school. Julia went up to it and peeked inside, and finding it empty, headed into the school. It was dark and slightly eerie, the empty corridors echoing the sound of her sneakers hitting the floor.

She found Al in the north wing. He was mopping up a pool of water outside a bathroom, and normally that wouldn't be that sexy but in that moment, in an undershirt that clung to his chest in all the right places, the top of his navy jumpsuit tied around his hips, his hair messy, headphones over his ears…after having not seen him for days…

He looked up and saw Julia standing there, and stopped. The pain in his chest, the ache that had been there for a while now, dissipated and he felt like he could finally breathe again. She was so beautiful, so perfect with that wild curly hair and those big eyes, staring at him as though he were fascinating. She started moving towards him, getting closer and closer until she was right there in front of him. She grabbed his arms, pushing him against the wall just hard enough, and then she was pulling him down and kissing him. As soon as their lips touched a shock coursed through their nervous system, making their whole bodies tingle and shiver.

"I missed you," he whispered when they broke apart, eyes still closed. They could feel each other's warm breath on their lips, and Julia swore she could feel his heart beating as hard as her own.

But then they opened their eyes, and Al seemed to realize what had happened. He pushed her away gently, holding her at arms' length, and ducked his head. He couldn't look at her. Cheeks flushed, he mumbled, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that…that shouldn't have happened."

"No, it's okay," she said, smiling, "Al, it's okay, I wanted to -"

Al shook his head. "No, it's not. You're…you're too young, Julia – you're too young, you've…you've been through enough…"

Julia's face fell. "W…what? I'm not…I'm seventeen, Al, I'm old enough –"

Al pushed her away, turning his back on her as he bent to pick up the fallen mop, mumbling, "I won't take advantage of you, girl, not like…not like that bastard who…"

"Don't you dare compare yourself to him!" Julia said loudly, suddenly very angry. She'd forgotten for a moment, and now Al had to go and ruin everything. "You are nothing like him!"

Al straightened up. This was the first time he'd ever heard her speak of her abuser.

"Don't ever," Julia's eyes shone, her voice very quiet, "_ever_ compare us to what that man did to me."

"I am like him," Al argued, his tone just as soft, "That kiss…that was wrong. I knew better but I let it happen anyway. I'm no better than him."

Julia was trembling, she was so angry. "It was _not _wrong!" she whispered. Jerkily, she lifted up her t-shirt, baring the scars on her stomach and hips. "_This _is what he did to me when I fought him. _This _was wrong. Forcing me…hurting me the way he did, _that _was wrong. But Al, the way you kissed me just now…_that was not wrong_."

Al stared at her, eyes shining, a sick feeling in his stomach. He stared at her scars, some faded lines, some still pink. He'd never seen…when the doc said, he never imagined…

"I'm sorry," was all he could say. Julia nodded, the tears finally spilling over. Then she turned and walked away, leaving Al standing there, sick to his stomach, barely able to breathe, his lips still tingling with the memory of her kiss.

* * *

Julia ran out of the school and down the road, nearly tumbling down the steep hill. She didn't stop running until she was a safe distance from the school, then she stopped and bent over, hands braced on her knees, and breathed slowly. _Stop crying_, she told herself. _Stop crying_…

She could hear music and laughter from the pub, and looked up. The orangey lights, the promise of warmth and enough alcohol to make her forget…she straightened up, wiped her eyes and headed towards it. No one noticed when she slipped inside, and she went up to the first unfamiliar man she saw and asked him to buy her a drink. He was already drunk himself and didn't even look at her twice before ordering a round of tequila shots. Al thought she was too young…well, then, she might as well act like it.


	4. Chapter 4

Getting drunk wasn't as liberating as Julia had hoped. After her first few drink she stopped flirting with the local lad supplying her alcohol and just sat there, drinking whatever they gave her and trying not to be sick. She'd hoped that getting drunk would make her happy – _he _was always happier after a few beers – but it just made her want to start weeping again. Her anger at Al had disappeared as quickly as it had come, and now she just felt…deflated.

"Go on, Julia," the bloke next to her, she thought his name was Ross, coaxed, holding a tall glass of beer under her nose, "Have another."

She took it and tipped it forward, squeezing her eyes shut and chugging until she couldn't any longer as the lads around her cheered her on. She set the empty glass down on the table, feeling quite woozy.

"I…" she mumbled, tugging on the man's sleeve, "I need air."

Suddenly she was standing, then falling, and then Ross's arms were around her. "Alright then, love, that's it… Come on, let's get some fresh air."

Ross helped her outside and as soon as she took a breath of the salty air, she leaned over and was sick. Ross patted her back awkwardly, beginning to wonder if it was worth it.

He'd noticed her when he came in from the terrace, and thought that maybe this was his chance. He'd been intrigued by her since the day she washed up on the beach and he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to see her in her knickers once more.

"Let me take you home," he said, but she shook her head. She sagged against him, eyes closing. "I need to sit down." She mumbled. He helped her over to the nearest bench and she slumped down onto it, her head in her hands. Ross sat down next to her and leaned in close. "You are completely pissed," he chuckled, resting his hand on her knee and slid it upward. "Come on, I'll take you back to mine."

"No," she said, giving him a shove. "Get off."

"What?" Ross tucked her hair behind her ear. "Don't be like that."

_Don't be like that, love…come here, it won't hurt if you stay still…_

Startled by the sudden wash of memories, Julia jumped away from Ross and toppled over, flinging out her arm to break her fall. Pain shot through her wrist and she swore loudly…

Al had just gotten home and was staring at the television when his mobile rang. He fished it out of his pocket and answered it lazily, expecting a wrong number.

"Yeah?"

"_Is this Al?_"

"Yeah."

"_Right, this is Ross_."

Al rubbed his eyes, turning off the TV. Why would Ross be calling him?

"What d'you want?" he asked. He could hear music and laughter in the background. Probably drunk-dialling…

"_Right well, I'm here with Julia and she's having some sort of melt down. Wanted me to call you. Think you could come down to the pub and pick her up? I think she might need a strong cup of coffee and a nap_…"

Al hung up and ran to the door, pulling on his boots and grabbing the keys to the van. He _knew_ he should've gone after her…but oh no, he had to stand there fighting with himself, like a complete tosser.

He pulled up to the pub and jumped out, rushing inside. He found Julia out on the terrace, sitting at one of the tables with her head in her hands. Ross and a few other lads stood around her, looking as uncomfortable as happy drunk boys could look.

"Julia," Al knelt down in front of her and took her head in his hands. "Okay, girl?"

"She hurt her wrist," Ross told him. "Fell off a bench."

"Can I see?" Al asked her, taking his hands away from his face. She extended her left arm and he gently pulled her sleeve up. Her wrist was swollen and turning a nasty shade of purple. "Well that's not good, is it." he mumbled. Then he straightened up and looked at Ross.

"Thanks...for calling me." he said stiffly.

Ross nodded, equally civil.

Al slid one arm around Julia's waist and the other under her legs and lifted her up, carrying her out of the pub and to the van. She clung to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she murmured shakily, "for kissing you."

Al said nothing, trying to ignore the twinge her words had given him. They reached the van and he got her settled in the passenger seat, then climbed in the driver's side and headed for the surgery. It occurred to him that he had no idea what to tell the doc. He'd probably never trust him with her again if he said, '_I sent her home by herself in the dark after kissing her and making her cry_'. Perhaps that would be for the best, though.

When they got to the surgery, Al carried Julia around to the back door and awkwardly wrapped his knuckles on it. Martin had been sitting at the table reading a medical journal, and when he opened the door he felt an odd sense of relief – he'd been a bit worried, though he would never admit it – but the relief soon disappeared when he realized that Julia did not look well.

"What happened?" Martin barked, standing aside to let Al carry her inside. He laid her down on the sofa carefully. "She went a little overboard at the pub," Al said, trying to sound casual as he brushed her hair off away from her face. She was half asleep, nursing her left hand against her chest.

"Why is she holding her wrist like that?" Martin inquired.

Al went to answer, but Julia opened her eyes and croaked, "I fell down. It's not his fault. Don't be angry…"

Martin softened. "I, um…of course not. You're a teenager, it's to be expected." he said gruffly. Then he turned to Al. "But I expected more from you, Al. I think it's best if you leave now."

Al hesitated.

"You can come back in the morning." Martin said, and Al seemed to relax a little.

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you tomorrow, girl." he nudged her foot and she mumbled a groggy goodnight.

Once Al was gone, Martin pulled up a chair in front of Julia and took her arm, inspecting her swollen wrist.

"Is it broken?" she asked thickly. She rubbed her face with her good hand clumsily, obviously trying to stay awake.

"I don't believe so," Martin answered. "Just a bad sprain."

"M'kay…" Julia mumbled. Martin left to get a wrap for her wrist from the surgery and when he returned she was fast asleep. Martin sighed. He wrapped her hand and covered her with a blanket, tucking her in nice and cozy, then settled himself in the armchair, picking up his book. He'd just be coming down to check on her every fifteen minutes anyway, might as well save himself the trips.

* * *

Julia woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache but an even worse pain in her hand. Holding it close to her body, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was alone in the living room, wearing the same clothes from the day before (now crusted in areas with sick) and her hair looked shockingly similar to something a cat would cough up. She struggled to sit up and inspected her hand. The wrapping was starting to become undone, the swelling having gone down considerably, and beneath it the skin was discoloured. She made a face and got to her feet, stumbling upstairs to the bathroom. Once she had a bath and dressed in a pair of soft jeans and an oversized yellow happy face t-shirt Mark had given her when she first arrived ("To make every day a happy one!") she went downstairs to make herself a cup of coffee. Martin was in the kitchen, and he re-wrapped her wrist before sending her out to the waiting room, where Pauline was playing an online poker game.

"Here, organize those." She said without looking up, thrusting a tin of water-stained papers at her. Julia took them and sat down on the floor, dumping them into a pile. Normally she didn't mind the petty tasks Pauline have her, but today nothing could take her mind off the night before. Not the drinking and making a fool of herself…but the other stuff. The stuff that mattered. She replayed the whole thing in her head over and over again, and each time it got more painful. The things she said, the way she'd screamed at him…she hadn't wanted him to know about the scars. She'd wanted to keep him in the dark, keep him away from those dark secrets. It was almost funny actually – he was upset because he felt like he violated her with the kiss, and she was upset because she felt like _she_ corrupted _him _with all of her dark twistedness.

"Here, Julia," Pauline said, interrupting Julia's thoughts, "Since you're no longer afraid of your shadow, you can go down to the chemist and get some supplies."

Julia said nothing, getting to her feet. Pauline handed her a list and Julia took a couple deep breaths before stepping out into the sunlight.

She met Al at the bottom of the stairs. She stopped, her heart jumping, and she felt an inexplicable need to fix her hair.

"Hi," Al said, seeming slightly dazed. Julia tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and mumbled,

"Hi."

"How's the hangover?" he asked, smiling a little. She shrugged, returning his smile.

"Fine. I'm…I'm off to the chemist." She shifted her weight from foot to foot. She couldn't look at his face without remembering how his lips feltagainst hers and the look in his eyes when she lifted her shirt and showed him exactly how damaged she was.

"Oh. Do you want some company?"

"Um…sure."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, then suddenly Al took her hand and pulled her into a narrow alley. For a moment Julia thought Al was going to kiss her, and her heart starting beating rapidly in anticipation. He was standing just a few inches away from her, close enough that she wouldn't even have to reach to pull him against her.

He'd had a speech prepared when he dragged her into the alley, but now that she was standing there in front of him, all he wanted to do was kiss her. Not that wanting to kiss her was anything new – he always wanted to. But with her standing so close he could smell her shampoo, it was kind of hard to think of anything else. He put his hands on her waist and pushed her gently against the wall, bending down to kiss her harder than he meant to. She snaked her arms around his neck and he ran his hands down her waist, over her hips and down her thighs, pulling her against him. Kissing Julia was…different. There was a strange desperation, a need he'd never experienced. A spark inside his chest that had never ignited until now.

"Al," she murmured, breaking away. She took his head in her hands, opening her eyes. "You can't keep doing this."

"What?" Al said thickly, kissing her neck. She pushed him gently and he raised his head. Stroking her hair, he realized what she meant. "I'm sorry. For everything I said…"

"You were right," she said quietly, "It was wrong. Pauline…"

"Yeah…yeah it was." Al agreed, but he didn't let go. She didn't want to, either, but she did. She pulled away and took a step back. "We just have to…we just have to stop. Before…before I fall even more in love with you," she said in a rush, looking at the ground. Al frowned. "What?"

Julia rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. "Don't make me say it again. Just…just leave it, yeah?"

And for the second time, she turned and walked away from him, fighting tears.

* * *

Dear readers,

Sorry for such a long wait! I hope you liked this chapter and it wasn't too jumbled. I sort of *ahem* forgot where I was going with it due to sudden family drama, but I think I've got it back on track. Thanks for sticking sticking with me this long!

- pensandpaper13


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